living with borderline (BPD)

Evidence

Sometimes I drive myself crazy with my own thoughts. Again and again I go through ever-disgusting memories in order to find something I don’t know yet. I think about things that make me feel sick, again and again because I long for a clarity that I’ll never get. I try to guess how old the longer memories are in order to have some idea as to how the flashbacks could be connected, I try to stay neutral and not get caught up with anything but also not to play anything down (which would be my speciality).

I am completely sure that I remember events that happened that way. Not because I want to insist on my point of view (who would want that in such a case) but because I know how I’ve tried to find out what certain words and phrases I was being told, meant – and where the hell would I have been taking them from as a child who made something up? I know how I felt ashamed for many things others didn’t even know at a very young age but at the same time acted shamelessly without understanding why there was only a certain kind of attention I was able to tolerate. I know it wasn’t a nightmare, an illusion or a sick phantasy (no child’s brain is that abnormal and it’s not like I’ve only been suffering from this since yesterday). Apart from that I am not the only one in this family who has to deal with events like that – I was the first one to bring it up so I also know that I don’t imagine that I went through something I was told about by others.

But still there’s not a single week where I don’t wish for evidence. Not because I would go to the police or use it otherwise. But I long for the certainty that I have a right to be disgusted, hurt, angry and distant. Sometimes I shyly try to demand that right on the grounds that it wasn’t okay for me but the most beautiful thing I can imagine would be someone who said it wouldn’t have been okay for anyone, that it’s not just me being sensitive.
Sick as it is to say that, sometimes I wish that “worse” things had happened, that it wouldn’t just have been me being put under pressure, bribed and betrayed but that I could have visible evidence that something went completely wrong. My last therapist said she believed me 100% – not just cause it was her job but also because the frequency and intensity of my dissociative states points in that direction but even that is not enough for me.

I want to hold something in my hand that makes everyone shut up who claims that I’m just upsetting a poor ill old man who wanted the best for me. I don’t feel like finding any more excuses for events that make a trigger-free shower seem inconceivable. I want more than just memories and flashbacks and fragments and subjective perception. By the looks of it I want something I’ll never get.

I was trying to remember until just this past week when my therapist said you don’t have to remember it to heal from it. You know, your body knows, it remembers what happened. She suggested I write it down so I didn’t over obsess over trying to remember exacts which I did all last week.
There doesn’t need to be evidence. You know it happened and just because those who covered it up, betrayed you, or didn’t care, exist, doesn’t mean what happened to you isn’t real. They suck. They are awful people. They are no reflection on you or what happened.
What you deserve is being acknowledged. No one should be talking about you upsetting him. Who cares about him. If he didn’t do anything it wouldn’t upset him! It should be about not upsetting you but apparently they care more about a criminal than you. Screw them. You don’t need to remember for them.